Honestly: My Life and Stryper Revealed

by Michael Sweet

  Shockingly, I escaped that bankruptcy with few repercussions other than bad credit and angry debtors. I didn’t have to give up a lot of my assets such as my house, car or musical equipment. But with two young children and a wife, not to mention no more band as my primary source of income, a bad credit score weighed heavily on me.

  I’m pleased to say that over the years I have rebuilt my credit (it’s better now than it was then), and I’ve risen above the bankruptcy cloud that consumed us. I’ve learned I never want to have to go through that again.

  As horrible as that whole financial mess was, it is a big part of why I am who I am today. It’s helped me to be a better steward and to be more responsible with everything that God has loaned or given to me. He wants us to be good stewards and to be responsible and I wasn’t doing that in the ’80s. I still struggle with it at times, but I’m a lot better with money today than I was then.

  I should set the record straight. Personally, I have never been rich by the world’s standards. I’ve certainly never been a multi-millionaire. I probably would have been a millionaire had I been more frugal with our spending. I’ve also never been one for extreme extravagance. Yes, I’ve owned a few nice cars and several nice homes. But I didn’t have a garage filled with Bentleys, Lamborghinis or Maseratis. I didn’t have six homes scattered throughout the world. I spent money that I shouldn’t have spent, and that I didn’t have in the bank, but it never got to that extreme. Most of our frivolous spending was on stuff that, at the time, we thought we needed to make the band better.

  I’ve never really even understood the extravagant way of living. Even in my most immature days, I didn’t see the purpose in owning a fleet of cars or multiple mansions.

  My house in Fullerton was a modest 2,000-square-foot, flat-roof home. It was my only asset to speak of and, fortunately, I didn’t have to give it up in the bankruptcy settlement. But I had no stocks, bonds, or retirement funds. We just weren’t that business savvy at the time.

  If I were blessed with fortunes to the level where I could buy a house on the coast of France, or a fleet of exotic cars, private planes, and yachts, I would like to think I’d behave responsibly. People are dying in our own country, in our own backyard, of starvation and homelessness. Even in my most reckless days with money, I can’t imagine not giving freely and generously.

  On days when I find myself thinking of money, and wishing I had more of it, in my heart-of-hearts the reason I would like more is so that I can help more people. Maybe one day I’ll have that opportunity.

  But then in 1992, I had no money. I was bankrupt. I had no band and, of course, no record label. Yet somehow I was the happiest I’ve ever been. I had my family, and I’d given everything back to God.

  I wasn’t completely without a plan, though. For the past year I’d been working on some demos with Brent Jeffers, and my future looked promising, even though I didn’t have any sort of business structure in place. No manager. No label. No agent. But I was making music that I thoroughly enjoyed. And I had a strange sense, a gut feeling, that it might just go somewhere new.

  THIRTY-TWO

  After leaving Stryper, I took a little time to breathe. I was going to church regularly at Calvary Chapel in West Covina and really growing in my faith. I credit Pastor Raul Ries for giving me a solid foundation in my walk with God. Many times during the Against the Law period I longed for a day when I would get back to regularly attending church. I felt freer than I ever have before.

  I was the happiest I’d ever been in my marriage and I was now able, for the first time, to play a more active role in the lives of my children. It was priceless to be able to watch them grow up. Although I missed out on so much time with my son, I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. I took time just being a dad, and it felt long overdue.

  It didn’t take long for me to get the music bug again though. I started writing new material and recorded some demos in San Bernardino with bassist Terry Usler. Tony Palacios from Guardian, whom I respect immensely, played on some of those songs as well. We tracked five songs, and although nothing immediately happened with them, I eventually self-released them on a CD called Unstryped.

  At church I began talking to Raul’s son Shane about the demos I had been making, and he offered the church studio that he engineered to me as well. Shane has a great sense of music and is incredibly talented and he was recording some amazing stuff at the church. We tracked some newer songs that I had written, “Tomorrow Tonight,” “All I Wanna Do Is Love You” and “I Think You Hear Me Knockin’.” The songs felt like they were really coming together, and I was excited about music again. I met a well-respected manager named Stephen Prendergast, who had managed the Canadian band Honeymoon Suite, and we worked together for a short while. There was no ceremonious breakup between us—we just never really got things off the ground.

  I continued to write and record and eventually had some cassettes pressed. I shopped the tapes around to industry people the best I could and those songs eventually caught the ears of Troy Van Leer at Benson Records. Troy was a friend and a fan and liked the songs, but wanted to hear more.

  Around that same time, someone had sent me some demos created by Gregg Fulkerson, the singer/guitarist for the band Blue Tears on MCA. Gregg was a talented writer/producer.

  I really connected with Gregg and flew to Nashville to do some recording with him. We co-wrote a few songs, “Together,” “All This and Heaven Too,” and “Ain’t No Safe Way” and recorded them at his house on a Fostex, 1/4 inch, eight-track machine. We sent the songs over to Benson, and I headed back to California.

  I could feel the momentum building. Sometimes in this business you can just tell you’re in a lull, and other times, often for no apparent reason, you just have this feeling that things are coming together and taking shape. That’s the way this felt. But the best part was—I didn’t care. Sure, I was hoping to continue in music, but it was nice to be making music again just for the sake of enjoyment and honoring God with the gifts that He had given me. I was giving it all back to Him, and the songs seemed to be pouring out of me. It felt great, and whether or not they achieved commercial success was not important to me. What was important was getting God’s message back out to the people.

  Back home in California, things were slightly awkward. I would still visit my parents and, occasionally, I’d land in the middle of a conversation between Rob and my mom talking Stryper business. After all, Stryper was technically still together.

  After I quit in ’92, the band did a short run in Germany and Sweden with Oz covering vocals. Although Oz can sing, I know Robert wanted someone who could not only sing better then Oz, but someone who could also take the front-man role. You have to have someone leading the band live, and Robert knew how important that was. The band performed one show at Knotts Berry Farm in May of ’92 in which they brought in Dale Thompson of the band Bride to sing lead. Dale is an amazing singer, one of the best in the genre in my opinion, but I was hearing from the fans that it just didn’t work. Fans weren’t buying it and, for whatever reason, Dale didn’t stick around long. Sometimes things don’t gel, and my guess is that was the case here. Likely, both parties knew it wasn’t going to work out.

  Stryper went back to Sweden, Denmark, and Switzerland as a three-piece in ’93. Meanwhile, I was in my zone making solo music and spending time with the family. There was no animosity in my heart, and I was genuinely wishing the guys well. More truthfully, I wasn’t giving Stryper much thought at all. People would ask me, “Stryper’s doing a run as a three-piece. Does that bother you?” It didn’t at all. I was actually rooting for them to find a singer and continue finding success. I was happy and content with my place in life, so I really did want the best for the guys moving forward.

  Back in Fullerton, I continued writing and enjoying the process of creating music. Unexpectedly, I received a call from Troy at Benson Records. On the phone with him was Jerry Park, the president of Benson. I sat down hoping and praying th
at this conversation was heading where I thought it would go.

  “We love the new songs,” Troy said. “We’d like to talk about moving forward and signing you to Benson Records!” Jerry confirmed those sentiments. By the fall of 1993, I signed a lucrative recording contract with Benson.

  I set out with Gregg Fulkerson and engineer Doug Beiden to produce my first, nationally released solo album. Working with Gregg and Doug was exciting. I could tell I was heading in the right direction musically, although as we were recording, I couldn’t help but feel the record needed more. We had already recorded eight or nine songs including “Together,” “All This And Heaven Too,” “I Think You Hear Me Knocking,” “All I Wanna Do Is Love You,” and “Ain’t No Safe Way,” but I felt that the record was lacking certain aspects and lacking, believe it or not, me.

  Gregg’s production style was very much in the vein of Bon Jovi and Def Leppard, so I flew back to California, where I would write and self-produce two more songs—“J.E.S.U.S.” and “Take Me Home”—and record them with Doug.

  Benson introduced me to an industry guy named Rendy Lovelady, who was just starting to get into artist management. I met with Rendy and we began working together. He’s an amazing guy and dear friend and still, to this day, we remain in touch. Rendy was instrumental in the success of my first solo release and solo career.

  Benson got behind the record in full force, and it was released in April of 1994. We shot videos for “All This and Heaven Too,” “Someday,” and “Ain’t Not Safe Way,” a video with an intro that featured a teenage couple contemplating sex. Although it was quite possibly one of the corniest videos I’ve ever made, it was somewhat of an edgy video for the Christian Music industry in the mid ’90s.

  Back home in California, I put together an all-star band consisting of Jamie Wollman (from the band Surrender) on drums—Scott Harper (from Whitecross) on bass—Dennis Cameron (from Angelica) on guitars—and the fiercely talented keyboardist/vocalist, Paul Huesman. John Huie, a friend and former Stryper agent, booked the solo band, and we set out for almost three months in the summer of ’94 playing festivals, theaters, clubs and malls. Yes, malls.

  We did something really different during this tour. The intention was to play an acoustic set at Christian bookstores across the country, but many of these stores were located in malls. Often the turnout would be so large that we’d have to move from the bookstore itself to a common area in the mall, which was even better for us and those attending.

  Benson pulled out all the stops in support of this album. When someone purchased the CD, they also received a free VHS that featured the three videos and some behind-the-scenes interview footage. The label also created life-sized standup cutouts of me. It was a little strange walking into the bookstores and seeing these cutouts standing at the front entrance. I still have one of them in my basement. The first time Benson did this, it was flattering—but the second time, for my next album Real, some executive decided that they didn’t like the expression on my face. They said my eyes, and I quote, looked too “sexy,” so they photo-shopped new eyes on my face. I remember walking into the label and seeing it from about 100 feet away and saying immediately, “What did you do to my eyes?” I looked like Michael Sweet’s cross-eyed doppelgänger!

  The tour for that first solo release was a blast, and the brotherhood within the band was a much-needed breath of fresh air. Rendy was still learning the ropes as a manager, but he was a mover and shaker. He was constantly on the phone working hard for me. During the process, he was calling in a lot of favors, sometimes without my knowledge.

  One of those favors was with a lighting company. They traveled with us on tour and brought out quite an elaborate system. Although I was much savvier business-wise as a result of my failures in Stryper, I failed to ask questions about the lighting. I just assumed it was all covered in the tour budget.

  We arrived home after that tour and soon after, I received an invoice for almost $25,000 from the lighting company. I called the company to get to the bottom of it, and they said they had a signed contract for this amount. I knew I hadn’t signed anything, so I asked them to fax me a copy of the agreement. Sure enough, I didn’t sign it, Rendy did. I was considerably upset and called Rendy. I told him he needed to deal with this because I wasn’t going to pay for something I didn’t know about, and had I known about it, I certainly wouldn’t have agreed to it. What’s more, when I did inquire about the lights early on, Rendy assured me it was not a problem and that he had worked it all out.

  To Rendy’s credit, he owned up to this and somehow took care of it. I don’t know if he paid it himself or what, but I did know that coming off the heels of financial ruin with Stryper, I was not about to fall back into that world. Had this been several years earlier, I probably would have buckled and just added it on to our ever-growing debt pile, but not today. I wasn’t going to roll over and let someone else’s business decisions effect me personally and financially.

  My marriage was strong at this time, and Kyle was becoming much more involved and active in my career.

  When you turn everything over to God, I believe He opens doors. He wasn’t just opening doors for me—He was breaking down the entire doorway. I was back on stable ground, solid ground. And to top it off, my first solo album went on to achieve five #1 singles and it sold in excess of 300,000 copies, more than the previous two Stryper albums combined.

  I was back. Mentally, spiritually, and financially, I was back in a way that felt great.

  As 1994 came to a close, however, something strange was happening in Orange County, California—the county in which Fullerton, and my home, sits. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing in the news. My home county may be declaring bankruptcy. Allegedly Robert Citron, the county’s treasurer, had made some seriously bad investments, and the county was heading for ruin. In December, the entire county did in fact declare bankruptcy. Home values plummeted as a result, including mine.

  We decided the best thing for us to do was to sell the house for what we could get and move back east to my mother-in-law’s home in Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts. We sold the house for a loss and moved back into Kyle’s childhood home on Cape Cod. Her mother was still living in the house, so Kyle, Lena, Mikey and I all moved in with Marion. It was not quite the rock-star set up, but I’ll admit it felt good to be out of Southern California and on the path to a new life.

  By this time, grunge music had consumed the world for a couple of years, and it was making me nervous about the next album I was contracted to record for Benson. I decided on doing something completely different from my previous album, or really any album I had ever released. I went for more of a stripped down, acoustic sound.

  The album was called Real and it was released in October 1995. By industry standards, it didn’t do nearly as well, but I did manage to squeeze three #1 songs out for Christian Radio, including a video for the title track. I only toured for about three weeks around the release of this album, mostly festivals and clubs.

  Soon after that I got the news that Benson was going under, and they eventually sold to Provident Music Group. Yes, yet another financial disaster in my life.

  I was starting to feel a bit deflated musically as 1996 rolled around. Real didn’t meet my or the label’s, expectations in terms of sales. Shortly after its release, I would find myself without a record label once again. And it wasn’t as if Buzzards Bay was the hotbed for music. I was as far away from my comfort zone of Los Angeles as I possibly could be, and I was faced with the harsh reality that this might be the end of the line for my musical journey.

  THIRTY-THREE

  With no record deal in place, I found myself 32 years old and feeling like this might be the end of my life as a musician. But some interesting things were happening in 1996—most notably, the Internet. It seems strange to talk about an era with no Internet, but I lived through the commercialization of this technology.

  Thanks to the Internet and a handful of faithful Stryper fans, I wo
uld eventually jumpstart things again, but prior to that happening, I honestly thought that maybe God just didn’t want me to do this any longer.

  After Benson had shut their doors, I started recording some demos at home. I had a few digital 8 track machines synched together and a drum machine that I programmed and I started recording basic ideas and sending them out to all the labels and people that I knew in the industry. I seemed to keep hearing the same exact phrase when I’d follow up with people I had sent music to—“Sorry Michael, we’re not interested.” This went on for months on end.

  Danny Goldberg, Stryper’s manager during the Against The Law period, had gone on to form Artemis Records. He politely passed when I sent him some material. Eddie DeGarmo was running Forefront Records, and he also passed. I don’t have a favorable memory of Eddie’s “pass”, however. In our initial phone conversation, he asked me how old I was. I told him I was 32, and Eddie proceeded to explain that they were only signing artists a lot younger than me. Ouch.

  Yeah, right Eddie. You’re never “too old,” buddy....

  After hearing “No thanks” many times, eventually I packed up all my gear and put it in a large storage area in the basement. “Maybe I’m just not supposed to do this anymore,” I thought as I packed my guitars and equipment neatly behind the closed doors.

  Soon afterward, I threw myself into working the family cranberry and camping business. I was making a whopping $250 a week, if that. Kyle worked in the office and made a little more than me, but not much more. During harvest season, I worked in the bogs, wearing waste-high hip waders. And during the camping season, I was known as “Ranger Mike.” My duties involved driving around in a jeep, showing guests to their campsites and making sure all the campfires were out at midnight. I promise I’m not making this up.